All We Have
by MyImmortal329
Summary: Daryl is on a mission to find Carol after Rick has banished her. But does Carol want to be found?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

Author's Note: This is inspired by a conversation I saw on Tumblr.

All We Have

Chapter 1

Daryl's head swam and his gut tightened as he tore down the leaf-littered highway on his motorcycle, heart racing as he played Rick's words over and over again in his head. Carol had killed Karen and David. Carol could not be trusted around the rest of the group. The group would not want her.

The moment Rick had told him, Daryl had felt like the entire world had dropped out from under his feet. He couldn't expect Rick to understand. He couldn't expect _anybody_ to understand, because it wasn't like he and Carol had made their relationship public. It had been new. It had been two friends scratching an itch. But, they'd both known it went deeper than that, and Daryl had been pondering just how deep that was on his way home from the veterinary school run. He'd made his decision, sitting there with that bead of Jasper between his fingers. He was going to tell her. He was going to take that leap, a leap no Dixon man ever dared to make unless they knew with absolute certainty that she was going to make that leap, too.

He'd come home wanting to find her, wanting to pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her. He'd come so close to saying it those nights in her cell or in his, when one of them would come to the other, and they'd say nothing, only strip down to nothing and forget about the world for a little while, bringing one another over the brink again and again.

But she was gone. Banished by Rick. And he wasn't certain what hurt more: that Rick had sent her away on his own accord or that she hadn't fought to come back, that she had let him leave her there. What had she been thinking?

Rick had yelled at him, had tried to convince him not to leave, to tell him that Carol wouldn't be welcome back at the prison if he brought her back. Daryl had swung at Rick, who'd quickly ducked away before charging and pinning Daryl to the prison wall. He'd already dealt with Tyreese, and the anger was still sizzling and popping under his skin. It hadn't been a surprise to Daryl that Rick would push him. It only proved to Daryl that Rick truly was losing his grip on reality.

He'd known about Karen and David. Well, he hadn't known in the sense that she'd told him or that he'd seen her do it, but the night it had happened, before anybody had known, she'd come to him, and she'd done something he hadn't seen her do since Sophia died. She'd broken down, and he'd held her, and they hadn't spoken. He'd just held her and stroked her hair and she'd clung to him. And when he'd woken the next morning, she was gone, and it was as if it had never happened, as if it had all been a dream. Until Tyreese had found the bodies.

There was no doubt in Daryl's mind why she'd done it. They were sick. Patrick had died and pretty much wiped out an entire cellblock. If one boy could do that, then what could two sick people do? There was already a chance that everybody could get sick or die, because pretty much everybody had been exposed to someone who had been exposed to Karen, David and Patrick.

All he knew was that he had to find her. She was out there alone, and while he didn't quite want to think about _why_ she was out there and hadn't fought to come back, he just wanted to find her and make sure she was ok.

And there was the distinct possibility that he might never find her. He'd managed to at least get a hunch on where Rick had left Carol, considering there were only a handful of suburbs within a twenty-mile radius. The car had been dry when Rick had driven through the gates, which indicated he hadn't met any bad weather, and that narrowed out the direction a storm had passed from. So he'd got on his bike and headed off to find her, silently praying she'd be easy to find.

...

Carol leaned over the toilet, coughing, shoulders shaking as she spat into the bowl. Her eyes were watering, partly from crying, partly from throwing up, and as she pulled back and slid back on the floor to sit against the bathroom door, she sniffled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She'd found out that morning. The morning Rick had invited her out on a run. She hadn't been too certain of what to say or how to say it, but she'd also known that she had to get out, and going on a run for supplies seemed like the best way to go about it. She could have used that information to convince Rick to take her back to the prison, but what had been the point? His mind was poisoned against her by his own self-righteousness. He'd stopped making decisions for the group, but he'd turned her away, because she'd put two dying people out of their misery. She didn't feel good about what she'd done. Far from it. But it _had_ to be done. Something had to be done to ease Karen and David's suffering and to try to stop the spread through the prison. Of course, she hadn't succeeded. At least Karen and David's suffering was at an end.

They'd been careful. Very careful. It had started out as two people scratching an itch. No words needed. He'd come to her, or she'd come to him, and they wouldn't speak of it. When it was over, she'd slip away, or he'd slip away, and the next day, things were back to normal. Until night fell, until everyone was sleeping, and then they had their time.

But all the care in the world hadn't prevented _this_ from happening. Maybe Rick's banishing her was for the best. Now she didn't have to see the pain in Daryl's eyes when she told him she was probably going to die, because she'd been stupid enough to let her hormones become more important than survival. She was pregnant, and she was considerably older than she'd been when she'd given birth to Sophia. She hadn't wanted more children. Not even when Sophia was born. Sophia was her little girl, and she'd thought it would be cruel to bring another life into that volatile home.

She'd gotten pregnant when Sophia was seven, but she'd lost that baby. And then again when Sophia was ten. She'd lost that baby, too. Always early on, so there was, at least, the possibility that this pregnancy wouldn't take. But in this moment, all the uncertainties and possibilities did nothing to stem her fears.

She took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes and leaning back against the door. It was an impossible decision. She could just stick her gun in her mouth right now, pull the trigger and save herself from nine months of worry and dread. But she'd never been one to take the easy way out. And as long as she had breath in her body, she could fight.

She' d contemplated ending it all when Sophia died. She'd considered it, really, but she'd pulled through it, and somehow, now, opting out felt like it would cheapen every raw emotion she'd felt since Sophia's death. No. Suicide wasn't an option. If it ever was for her, it would have been long before.

Abortion. Those little pills that Lori had confided in her about, the ones she'd thrown up. Those might work. Or they might not. They might make her sick. Might kill her. If ending the pregnancy didn't kill her, the birth sure as hell might.

She had a choice to make. Take the pills, risk losing the baby but not passing all of the tissue, risk sepsis and death. She'd miscarried twice. She knew the risks of an incomplete miscarriage. Or there was acceptance. Accept that she was pregnant, live with it, and hope to God she didn't die giving birth.

It was grim all the way around. Say she did survive. Say the baby survived. What kind of life would they have alone on the road, never staying put for too long, running from walkers until they ran out of gas, until the walkers were too many, too strong, too much?

It was stupid. Selfish. And Daryl. God. To think of him made her chest ache. Made her long for his arms around her, his chin resting atop her head as she nestled into him.

She quickly bit back the sob that threatened to escape. Standing on shaky legs, she left the bathroom, wiping at her eyes, telling herself that it didn't matter, that it was time to move on, that she had to do this on her own.

She slung her pack over her shoulder, moving out into the kitchen area of the women's shelter. She'd been there so many times before. It had been her safe haven, but it hadn't been enough. She hadn't been strong enough then. Ed had called her weak, and she'd believed him, believed that her cards had been dealt, that Ed was it, and as bad as it was, it was all there was.

She'd hated herself. Every time she'd gone back, every time she'd come home with a shaking Sophia to find Ed waiting, belt in his hand, waiting to send Sophia to her room and punish Carol for daring to stay gone for so damned long.

She flinched, running her hand over her elbow, remembering the way he'd dislocated it that last time.

She shook her head, swallowing back the bile she tasted in her throat. No, it wasn't the time to let memories come in. She had to find food. She needed water. She needed to get back out to her car and keep going, putting as much distance between herself and the life she had to leave behind in the dust.

She moved through the kitchen, picking through the meager leftovers that hadn't been picked through already. Beans. Canned veggies. Canned meat that she'd never cared for but sounded better than nothing.

She left the kitchen, crossing over to the back door she'd come through the night before. It had been stupid, going to Atlanta. It had been reckless and stupid. But it had been the only place she'd known to go, and now that she was there, she felt, suddenly, alone and vulnerable.

She hoisted her bag over her shoulder, slowly opening the door, peeking out for any trace of the walkers that had followed her the night before. Finding the path clear, she took one last look over her shoulders, memories of Sophia crying, begging her not to go back home echoing through her head. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing the thoughts away, knowing that all of the wishing and praying in the world would never change the fact that she'd gone back to him, taken her daughter back to that house, back to that man, back to a life of living in fear of making too much noise or even speaking.

She'd always wanted to be a good mother, she couldn't protect her daughter. She couldn't save her. And here she was again, pregnant, facing a very short, painful life for both herself and this child, and all she could think was that maybe it was supposed to be this way. Maybe this was her burden to bear. Maybe this was her punishment for not being good enough, for not being a better mother. Maybe she was supposed to suffer. Maybe, in the end, she would understand the woman she once was, this stranger in her memories, so different from what she was now. Maybe someday she would understand why she wasn't strong then. She could be strong now. She had to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Sophia was four years old, Ed had gone out of town for a whole week, and it had been the best week Carol had had in a long time. She and Sophia had spent all of their time running around the house, acting silly, even making messes, and not cleaning them up right away. They'd ate cookies in bed, fell asleep with the television still on, and they'd gone out shopping, spending some of the stash Carol had hidden away, just in case she ever got up the nerve to make a run for it.

When Ed had come home, the house had been spotless, and Sophia had made herself scarce, but Ed had had a feeling. Just a feeling. He'd hit Carol so hard her vision had blurred, and the more she'd begged him to stop, the harder he'd hit her. Sophia had come running into the kitchen, seeing her mother sprawled out on the kitchen floor, and she had thrown herself over her, begging Ed to stop.

 _"Daddy, no! Please don't hurt mama!"_ He had jerked her away and shut her in her room, and Carol could hear her screams and cries as Ed's footsteps thundered back toward the kitchen. He'd come back with a belt, and the welts on her legs took a week and a half to fade.

Now, as Carol sat in the car, her hand absentmindedly moved down her leg, remembering the pain, not certain at that moment why she was thinking back to that time. She'd just tried to give her little girl a bit of a normal life while Ed was gone. She'd tried to fill those days up with happiness and good memories. Still, at the end of the week, she hadn't been able to walk away and give her daughter a full life, a healthy life. Ed's pull on her had been overpowering and devastating. He'd broken her in every way a man could, and the only thing that held her together for those last few years was that sweet girl.

What kind of mother can't pull herself out of her own weakness to provide for her daughter? What kind of mother can't protect her own child?

Tears stung her eyes as she sat in front of the women's shelter, remembering Sophia crying as they'd gone back home, asking her why they had to leave, why they had to go back to Ed. She could remember telling her daughter that they had to be strong, that it wasn't the right time, that it just wasn't safe to leave yet. It had all been bullshit. And she hated herself for it now. She could have just driven off in the other direction. She could have kept going and never looked back, but she'd been terrified, more terrified of what was out there that she didn't know about than what was at home waiting for her. The devil you know, and all that.

She could still remember the first time she'd seen Daryl Dixon. He and his brother had come upon the group. He'd gotten out of the truck, eyes flashing to the faces of the curious campers, muscles tense, coiled tight. He'd been rough. But when their eyes met for the first time, something in his gaze changed, something in _her_ changed, and she didn't quite know what it was.

But it had been short-lived, because Ed had roughly grabbed her by the elbow and led her to the tent, demanding she do some stupid job he could have done all by himself if he wasn't so fucking lazy.

That night, after Ed had gone to sleep, she'd slipped out of the tent, risking a beating if he'd woken up wondering where she was. But the air was sticky hot, and it felt even hotter in the tent, where Sophia had curled up next to her, all long limbs and hair sticking to her skin.

Daryl had been slinking around the campsite with his crossbow, and she'd cut into his path on accident. He'd startled, holding his bow on her, and she'd gasped, backing up slowly, eyes not focused on the bow but rather on his face, watching the way his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched as he fought the urge to yell at her to watch where the hell she was going.

She had seen it, too. She'd seen the moment he'd backed down before opening his mouth.

 _"Ain't safe out here at night. Best get back to yer family_." It had been all he'd said, and then there'd been a flash in his eyes, and it had made the flesh on the back of her neck prickle. And the he'd turned and was gone, and she'd felt breathless.

How they'd gone from that to being the one person each other went to in those dark hours between dusk and dawn, she'd never really know. All she knew now was that she'd never known what it felt like to have somebody fully submit themselves to taking care of another person. Daryl had nearly died trying to find Sophia. And then, when this new thing—whatever it had been—started between them at the prison, he'd made those nights about her, about pleasing her, about showing her that sex was supposed to feel good and not like a wifely duty. And she'd begun to break out of the shell she'd put around herself, the meek, submissive slip of a thing who let the man do what he needed to do, leaving her to cry in frustration that he didn't care about her needs, about her at all. No, Daryl had always seemed eager to make her feel good, to make her come first, and slowly, she'd come to appreciate the up sides of making _him_ feel good. Making him feel good was almost as good as when he'd kiss his way down her body, resting between her legs, fingers and tongue working in unison to bring her over the edge. Almost as good.

And to know that she would never feel that again; never feel the sensation of his breath and his lips on the back of her neck, of his fingers finding purchase on her thighs, cradling them between his own as he slid into her or feeling that sweet ache of him stretching her or of that tug at her heartstrings when she'd open her eyes and look into his, seeing something dancing behind his lashes, something that she felt, something that she could taste on the tip of her tongue but never could quite turn into words was more devastating than she cared to admit.

She leaned her head back against the seat, feeling another wave of nausea pass over her. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping tight to the steering wheel, willing the feeling to pass. And before long, she heard something slap against the driver's side window, startling her. She gasped as a walker's fingers slipped through the crack at the top of the window, and she quickly started the engine and tore off down the street, dragging the walker for about a half a black, until the flesh tore from its fingers, and it was left lying in the middle of the street.

She honestly didn't know where to go. There was no going back to the prison. She could take Rick's suggestion of finding another group, someone who didn't know she'd killed two people. But she couldn't build bridges with new people again. She'd found a family in that little group from the quarry and with the Greene family. And those bridges were burnt now. She'd be better off alone. She could carry on, have this baby, and either they would die, or they wouldn't. Either way, she wasn't certain which outcome was the best. This child didn't ask for any of this. It didn't ask to be brought into a world where every day is a struggle to make it to sun down, to make it to the point where your heart doesn't have to race, your stomach doesn't have to growl, and your fears that something will get you in the night won't be ever-present as you struggle to sleep.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying not to let her thoughts get the best of her. She had to focus. She couldn't think about the past. She couldn't think about the future. She had to think about now, or else she felt like she might slip over the brink of insanity.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Falling in love with Carol had been the most confusing, frustrating, beautiful thing Daryl had ever experienced in his entire life. But the problem was that he'd never had the chance to tell her. Now she was out there, probably thinking the entire group hated her, all because Rick had made a decision based on his own hypocrisy. Sure, it was alright to tie a young man in a barn and plan his execution, but to put two dying people out of their misery? Daryl couldn't wrap his head around how what Carol had done had been worthy of banishment. It made no sense, and the more he thought about it, the angrier it made him.

He wasn't sure what had brought him here. He could think of no good reason why Carol would come here, but he'd driven around, looking for any sign of her, and he'd come up empty handed. And the road had led here.

He slowed to a stop just outside of Atlanta, pausing to take in the way weeds had grown up through cracks in the asphalt, the way nature had started to reclaim what rightfully belonged to it. Some buildings along the highway were burnt out shells, and he wondered what had happened since they'd gone to Atlanta looking for Merle. Things had changed. It could have been lightning. It could have been. Or it could have been people. And if there was anything the Governor had taught him it was that people were worse. The dead couldn't help what had happened to them. The sickness was designed to kill. But people? People still had free will. They had survival, but they had free will, and that made humans far more of a threat than a bunch of walking corpses.

Carol could handle herself against walkers. She had great aim, and she could take out a walker from several yards away. She could handle a knife better than anybody else in the group, and he'd felt a swell of pride in his chest when he'd seen her take out a walker for the very first time that winter before they'd found the prison. He wasn't worried about the dead. It was the living. Rick had sent her out there. Rick had left her vulnerable to all of the rest of the threats in this new world. He'd done it so deliberately and in such a calculated way, taking her out for supplies with no intention of bringing her back.

With a frown, he turned his back on the city. Going in there at all took a lot of balls, but going in on a motorcycle was bordering on bat shit insanity. He couldn't imagine Carol having gone into Atlanta, but anything was possible. He prayed she hadn't, because if she had, there was a good chance she wouldn't make it out. There was a good chance she'd run into something stronger than her, something overpowering. He trusted her strength, her instinct, but Atlanta belonged to the walkers, and any people that might be left over, would certainly be desperate enough by now that they might do anything if they came upon someone new scavenging for supplies.

Fuck, he hated this. He was a skilled tracker, but when he didn't quite know where to look or what to look for coupled with the fact that he was out of his element in the city, he felt powerless.

Where would Carol go? What place would be familiar for her? Where might she choose as a starting over point?

She'd stick to the highway, he was certain. If she'd gone near Atlanta at all and had gotten out alive, she'd stick to the highway. She'd give herself plenty of room, plenty of options. She could choose a direction, and if she ran into trouble, she could back out and start over again. He'd try that. He'd try…and then it hit him. He knew where to look. He knew exactly where to look. And as much as he hoped she wasn't there, he hoped she was, because finding her sooner rather later sounded better.

He revved the engine, doing a full turn around and speeding off down the highway once again. He felt his chest tighten with anxiety, his stomach twisting into knots as an overwhelming hope hit him full force. He could get there by nightfall if he rushed.

...

 _Maybe I am crazy. Maybe Rick was right to send me away. If I was sane, I wouldn't have come here._ Carol was surprised as she turned down the gravel road. She'd expected it to be overrun by walkers. She'd expected a herd. She certainly hadn't expected it to look so damned peaceful, much like it had before all hell broke loose and the place burnt to the ground.

 _If I was stronger, I'd turn around now. This is stupid. I'm being weak. She's not there. It was never her. It was some thing. Not her. Not Sophia._ Her eyes were glassy as she slowed the car, gently nudging the gate open as she drove through. No longer was the barn there, sticking up over the tree tops. No longer were there horses and cows grazing in the pasture. She saw a few piles of bones, here and there, likely livestock felled by walkers.

She swallowed the knot in her throat, driving up the path until she could see the weather-worn siding at the front of the farm house. A lot had changed since that night. The worn, burnt out ground where the barn once stood was littered with debris from the fire and from storms that had come and gone over the past year. The house looked remarkably stable, front door still wide open from that night. Bodies littered the ground, now nothing more than skeletons with pieces of flesh, muscle and tissue still attached. The burnt out shell out Dale's RV was still there, blood spattered along the smoke blackened windows.

Carol felt her stomach turn, flinching as she remembered thinking Andrea was dead, turning to run blindly along the fence. And she'd almost died, too, but Daryl had found her.

 _Come on, I ain't got all day!_ She remembered pulling herself onto the back of his bike, the exhilarating feeling of safety as Daryl sped off of the farm, carrying the both of them to salvation. She remembered blinking back tears as she realized that she was leaving everything that was left of her little girl behind. The doll, the grave, the Cherokee rose she'd placed upon the child's grave one night. She hadn't been able to bring herself to attend the funeral. It had been too much. But she'd slipped out one night about a week after Sophia's death, and she'd visited the grave, and she'd wept, and she'd come to understand that maybe Sophia was the lucky one.

Carol pulled the car up next to the shade trees, where the row of graves had grown over in grass and weeds. The markers were still there, and Carol stepped out of the car, moving to Sophia's grave. She kept her knife in one hand, placing her hand upon the cross.

"Hey, kiddo," she whispered. "It's been a long time." She sighed softly. "A lot's happened. I have a lot to tell you, and I don't even know where to start." She let out a soft breath, clutching the grass between her fingers. "I miss you."

She sat at Sophia's grave for what seemed like an hour, until the wind began to blow, and thunder rumbled in the distance. When lightning flashed in the sky, Carol quickly pulled herself back into the car and drove up to park by the front porch. She gathered her weapons and her pack and headed inside, shutting the door loudly behind her. She dropped her pack on the floor and waited, banging her foot hard against the wall. She heard a shuffling from the kitchen, so she banged her foot again. Soon, two walkers came shuffling out. She took the first one out with a quick jab to the temple, and the next one, she kicked back, as she forced her knife out of the other one's skull. When she retrieved the weapon, she took the other one down, and quickly made work of dragging the bodies out onto the porch.

She quickly made a sweep over every part of the house, making certain all the doors and windows were secured and that there were no walkers. There were a few birds in Hershel's room, but she quickly shooed them out by opening a window and using a broom to swipe at them as they flitted along the ceiling.

By the time she got the entire house checked, she was exhausted, and she curled up on the couch, closing her eyes and listening to the whistling wind usher in the storm. The house grew dark quickly, and Carol closed her eyes, hearing the house creak and shudder, standing tall and proud against the bracing storm. And as she tried to force herself to sleep, all she could hear were the voices of ghosts echoing through the halls, reminding her that she was alone, and there was nobody to come to her, to comfort her and hold her and tell her that everything was going to be ok.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Carol woke to a growling stomach and to the steady _drip drip drip_ of water trickling off of a tree and onto the porch roof. She yawned, stretching where she lay before sitting and taking a look around the place.

It was so still and seemed so big. It had seemed big, even with everybody at the farm, but now? Now it seemed like a fortress, a place with too many halls and rooms and places to fill with silence. She stood up, moving to peer outside, seeing the way the tree branches shook in the wind, how the puddles of water rippled. The storm had passed, and the sun was filtering through the clouds, making the wet leaves shimmer.

She grabbed her pack, hoisting it into her lap. She rummaged through it, grabbing a pack of crackers and opening them. They were pretty stale, but at least she could eat them without feeling like she was going to throw up. Besides, she didn't have much, so she was going to have to ration.

With a frown, she walked outside and squinted into haze. The humidity made the air stick, and she felt damp all over. Shivering, she stepped off of the porch and down onto the porch, deciding to take a look around the property.

Some of the tents were still there, off away from the house. She could spot Rick and Lori's tent and even her own, though wind and time had taken a toll on them. The frames were bent, and the fabric was torn.

She stepped over, turning over chairs and finding clothes, wet and dirty from weather, but not completely in tatters. She began to gather them, finding what she could. She found her old suitcase, filled with clothes she'd gathered on the highway the day Sophia had disappeared. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she found something else. She picked it up, running her fingers over the dirty, empty box. She knew what had been in them. Pills. Pills to end pregnancy. Lori had told her about them, about how she'd swallowed them and thrown them up, and how she wasn't certain throwing them up had been the best option, because her baby would spend its whole life fighting and being scared.

Carol sighed softly, tearing off a piece of the box with the name of the drug. She hadn't made her decision, but it was just as valid a choice as anything else, and perhaps it might be the best choice.

She stuffed the bit of cardboard into her pocket and moved to pick through what else she could salvage. When she was finished, she made her way back to the house, eyes focused on the burnt out shell of an RV, remembering the nights she'd spent crying herself to sleep after Sophia had disappeared. That woman seemed like a stranger now, like someone from a different life.

She remembered spending hours cleaning and rearranging things, trying to keep her mind off of everything, convincing herself that Sophia was ok, that she'd be home soon, that she'd be a little cold, hungry and dirty, but she'd be ok, and everything could be the way it was. She remembered Daryl bringing her that flower in a beer bottle, a Cherokee rose. He'd had such hope, such confidence that Sophia was alive, that she'd be found. He'd been the one constant keeping her head up during that whole ordeal. She'd been so terrified, and he'd never lost hope that Sophia would be found. He'd nearly died in the process of looking for her, but he hadn't given up. Daryl had truly been her savior during those dark times.

Her heart ached at the memories, and she turned away from the old RV, looking off toward the field the herd had come from. Maybe the fences could be mended. Maybe this farm could be what it once was, a safe haven.

She didn't know how long she'd stay, but it was a possibility. She couldn't dwell on the past, she knew that. She had her life to think about. She had this pregnancy to think about. But this was, for now, a good distraction. It was something to keep her mind off of the choices she had to make.

As she made her way around the back of the house, she spotted the old shed where Hershel stored some of his smaller equipment. An ax was propped up against it, and she made quick work of breaking the lock with it and opening the shed to rummage around inside. She found a small game trap, perfect for rabbits. Daryl had taught her how to set one over the winter, but the trap had been much less fancy than this contraption, which looked far easier to work. She made a mental note to set it up later, maybe even take it with her when she left the farm for good.

The breeze took a cool turn, and Carol shivered, heading back up the porch, hauling the items she'd gathered from the old tents. She deposited everything on the couch and started for the door to lock up. A nervous twitter in her heart had her feeling unsettled. She peered out the screen door toward the path that led down to the highway. She could almost hear the sound of a motor revving, and the _spat-spat-spat_ of dirt flying up from under the wheels of Daryl's motorcycle. She stood there a few moments longer, curling her arms around her middle, peering off down the road so long that her eyes began to play tricks on her. She blinked a few times, shuddering as the silence fell around her again, and she shut the door, closing out the sunlight.

...

Daryl leaned over the guardrails, staring down into the ravine. He took one last long drag on his cigarette before flicking it over the edge, watching the smoke curl up out of the blackness as it hit somewhere down below.

He could still see Carol slumping, shoulders shaking when Rick came back without Sophia, the full realization that her little girl was lost out there hitting her right through the heart.

He breathed the last stream of smoke out through his nose, clearing his throat and peering around. She wouldn't be here. This place was simply a reminder that her daughter had been so close to her, but had still slipped away, never to be seen alive again. No, she'd go back to a place where she hadn't properly grieved. She'd accepted that her daughter was missing. It had been Sophia's death and funeral she'd had the hardest time with. He knew she'd accepted that Sophia was dead, but properly grieving her was something else altogether.

He pushed off of the guardrail, heading back to his motorcycle. He stuffed his hand into one of his pockets, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Lighting it, he took another long drag, fingers twitching slightly as he got a game plan in mind. He knew where he was going, he was about seventy percent certain she would be there, but it was the state she'd be in that he was worried about. Rick had sent her off after saying God knows what to her, so would she be upset? Would she be closed off? Would she just be Carol? It was hard to say. She'd changed so much in some ways, but there were other things about her that hadn't. She was a good person, always putting the good of the group before everything else, always caring about everybody else, thinking three steps ahead, trying to keep herself sane. In this world, if anybody slowed down long enough to truly think about how fucked the world had become, they could all easily spiral into insanity.

He took off, weaving through the graveyard of cars, the stink of moss and rotting flesh slapping him in the face as he passed cars with blood spattered windows and bodies slumped over steering wheels. He carefully navigated through the silent traffic snarl before finding that old lead off from the highway he'd traveled so many times before. Greene farm, up ahead.

...

She'd thought she'd been hearing things, pushing off from the bed she'd lay down on and moving to look out the window. She couldn't get a good look at the driveway, but she could definitely hear something. Feet on gravel. Someone was there, and that someone had come in on a very loud motorcycle.

Her breath caught in her chest, and she chewed her lip nervously for a moment, moving from the window and out into the hall, peeking out a window that overlooked the porch. And there it was. Daryl's chopper.

Her heart skipped a beat and then began to flutter anxiously in her chest. So many things to say to him, so many things she needed from him, and all she could think about was getting her arms around him and holding him and making sure he was really, truly there.

She took the stairs quickly and carefully, a nervous, tense bundle of nerves coiling tight in her stomach as she thought about everything that had happened and everything that was going to happen, but none of it mattered in that moment.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she set her sights on the front door. She held her breath then, reaching for the door knob as the screen door creaked open. She paused briefly, a wave of emotion pulsing through her, making her head swim. But then she felt the knob jostle beneath her fingertips, and she quickly unlocked it, pulling the door open. His eyes were on hers then, and she let out a heavy sigh, slumping slightly in the doorway.

"Jesus," he murmured, reaching out, hand gently skimming along her arm. And then he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her middle and hugging her tight, as her arms moved around his shoulders. She clung to him then, breathing him in, letting out a choked sob as she felt his chest tremble against hers. He felt good, and it felt good to hold him, and all she could think about was how she wasn't alone. He was here, and she wasn't alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He let go of her after a few moments, but he moved his hands down her arms, gently grasping her fingers with his own. He leaned in then, pressing his mouth against hers, and she let out a soft sob, feeling the warmth of his breath against her skin. The kiss was brief, but when Carol pulled away, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent, clutching his hands harder, as if she was afraid that when she let go, he would disappear into thin air.

"You ok?" he finally asked, gently squeezing her hands. She sniffled, nodding and pulled back, wiping at her eyes.

"I'm good. No worse for wear," she said quietly, voice low, steady. A beat, and he was pulling her close again, fingers threading through her hair, tilting her head back, pressing his lips against hers again. She trembled against his kiss, savoring the feeling, body overwhelmed by the physical sensation. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment, shoulders heaving as he fought for breath. Her hands were on his shoulders now, gently squeezing, a question with an answer she already knew gnawing at her throat. Pulling back, she brushed the mop of hair out of his eyes, examining his face, focusing on his deep, blue eyes. "You know?"

"I know," he murmured, reaching out, grasping her hand again. She stepped back, letting him into the house, and she shut the door firmly behind them, locking it up. Her fingers trembled against his, and her heart pounded as they walked into the living room. "Place ain't changed. You cleaned up? Plannin' to stay?"

"I hadn't made any decisions yet. I still don't know." She moved away from him then, fingers slipping from his as she put some space between them. He watched her, watched the way she seemed to coil up inside of herself. He felt his throat go dry, and he took a few steps toward her, closing the distance a little.

"Hey," he said quietly. "It don't matter. What happened with Karen and David, I mean." She looked up at him, her eyes almost cerulean in the dim light of the living room. He saw the tears shining there, and he saw her lip stiffen as she willed them away. "It happened, but after everything that's happened to you, to us, the group? It don't matter. Not in the scheme of things."

"It doesn't?" she asked. "Daryl, I killed them." Her voice was low, tight, and her fingers clutched at her shirt. She shivered. And then she sighed, an admission escaping her lips. "And I would do it again. What…what does that even say about me?"

"Says you're a survivor. Karen and David were dead the second they got sick. Maybe Rick don't know it, but I know it. You knew it. Ya did what ya had to do, and ya did it for the group."

"He looked at me like…like he was disgusted. Said he wouldn't have me there around Carl and Judith." She swallowed hard. She wasn't looking for pity. She was just laying it all bare, willing herself to think about it, to remember it, to feel the pain of being told she couldn't come back, that life as she'd come to understand it since the turn was changing once again, and this time, she'd be alone.

"He was wrong." Daryl moved toward her, touching her elbow and then her chin, tipping her face toward his, urging her to meet his gaze. "We both know he ain't been right. Been distractin' himself from grievin' his wife, been distractin' himself with farmin' and tryin' to keep Carl away from all the bad shit goin' on outside those gates." He shook his head. "He was wrong."

"Maybe I shouldn't be there. I know I've changed. A year ago, I never would have thought about doing what I did. But then I had Lizzie and Mika to think about. And you. And the rest of them. I couldn't…I couldn't just sit by and watch everybody I lo—care about get sick and die all around me. I couldn't be helpless. I couldn't sit by and let everyone else deal with it. I couldn't." Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes against the hot tears that stung her eyes. "I had to do something. Maybe they would have lived. But maybe they would have gotten more people sick in the process. I…"

"They were dyin'. They were gonna die painful, slow. Ya did what ya had to do. Rick didn't see it. Couldn't see it. But you did. World's a different place now. Rick's hands ain't clean, neither. None of ours are." Carol closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the ache return to her chest.

"They must think…God, they must think I…" She sat down on the couch, knees shaking, hands trembling as she rested them in her lap. Daryl moved to sit next to her, debating whether or not it was ok to pull his arm around her. He settled for putting his hand against hers. "Maybe they would've lived." She wrapped her arms around herself.

"Stop," he said quietly. "It's done. I understand. He had no right to send you away. Should have waited 'til the sickness passed. Should have brought it up with the council."

"I was part of the council," she scoffed. "Rick was thinking about his kids. Put yourself in his shoes. If you were a father, would you want me around your kids if you knew I killed two people and burned their bodies up?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "That's what everyone sees. Karen and David were sick, and somebody murdered them and set them on fire."

"They don't see what I do," Daryl replied. Carol shook her head, sighing and running her fingers through her hair.

"I take it you found some medicine," she said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah. Folks are gettin' better. But a lot of folks died before we got back. If you hadn't done what you'd done, Karen and David could've infected more people, could've turned." Carol shook her head.

"Lizzie and Mika," she murmured.

"Hershel said Lizzie's fine. Didn't get a chance to stop and see for myself." He swallowed hard. "What Rick did, it ain't right. I had to find you."

"Find me and what? Take me back there? I'm not wanted, Daryl."

"I want you. You belong there just as much as anybody else." His voice was low, certain. "I had to find ya. Thought…thought you might come here. It's where Sophia is. It's where…" His voice trailed off, and Carol gave him a sad smile.

"I didn't know where else to go, and I couldn't just sit around feeling sorry for myself. So I came here for shelter, trying to regroup and make some plans. I just…I hadn't decided on anything."

"Then come back with me."

"Please don't ask me that." She got up, moving across the room. "I won't go back. I can't."

"Rick don't know what he's sayin'. I'm tellin' ya, if we talk to 'em…"

"Rick won't let me past that gate," Carol balked. "Daryl, even if I was welcomed back with open arms, I don't think I want to go back. I want…I want to forget."

"What about Lizzie? Mika?"

"Rick said he'd take care of them. They'll be fine." She turned, moving toward the window, listening as Daryl shifted his weight and the floorboards creaked under his boots.

"So that's it?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the back of her head. "You're just gonna accept it?"

"I don't want to be where I'm not wanted!" she snapped, spinning around and glaring at him.

"I want you there."

"You want me there, why? Because I warm your bunk at night?" Her words were sharp, but the sadness in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. Still, the situation just pissed him off entirely. He held his breath, fingers trembling as he stalked across the room, coming to stand right in front of her.

"If ya don't know by now, then ya ain't got much sense. And I know you. I know you're smarter than that." His hands were on her shoulders now, and she shivered as his glare pierced into her, as if he was looking right into her soul.

Carol swallowed hard, heart pounding in her chest as she watched his lip quiver. He was holding something back, that much she could tell. She gave him a moment, watching as he lowered his gaze, head falling as if in defeat. She reached up, gently stroking his hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"You must be hungry."

"We gotta talk about this."

"We also gotta eat. Come on." She curled her fingers in his, a simple gesture, but it meant so much to the both of them. Leading him to the kitchen, she nodded for him to have a seat, and he watched as she opened up packages of crackers. "This is pretty much all I have. Oh. And this." She tossed him a peach, one of the few that had been salvaged after that poor girl with the bad leg was taken by the walkers. "It's not much, but it's something."

"More'n I had all day," he muttered, taking a bite of a stale cracker. "Thanks." She settled in across from him at the table, feeling a bit strange sitting at Hershel's table, when Hershel wasn't there. "So what's the plan?"

"I don't know. I thought about…about staying here. Close to Sophia. But, it's so far from town."

"Could always fix the fences up, make it like it was. Plant some crops, get somethin' good goin' here."

"I could," she said quietly. Daryl got up, moving to look out the back door. "Wells might need some clearin' out, but we can probably get one up and workin'."

"We?"

"Maybe go into town, get some seeds, start plantin' a garden. Gotta be some soil left 'round here ain't too soaked with walker blood. Get what's left of the bodies in a burn pile out in the back field."

"Daryl? We?" She watched him turn from the door, chewing his thumbnail.

"Hmm." He nodded his head.

"Daryl, you have to go back to the prison."

"Ain't goin' no damn place if you ain't."

"Daryl, stop."

"No, you stop," he said roughly, moving across the room, leaning on the table and getting his face close to hers. "I. Ain't. Leavin'. You." She shivered then, watching the way his jaw tensed when he closed his mouth. "You either come back with me to the prison, or we stay here, or we go somewhere else. Ain't losin' you again."

"Daryl."

"We get back there, we can talk to 'em. Make 'em understand."

"Daryl, I'm tired," she whispered. "I just…I can't go back. I can't defend my actions to them. I did what I did. I did what I had to do, because if I hadn't, they might be dead right now. They could." She took a deep breath. "And things are different now. Things are bad enough out there, what with the Governor being out there somewhere, with walkers trying to break down the prison fences, with…and I…" She felt a wave of nausea pass over her, and just as she thought it was about to pass, she felt her throat tighten and sweat bead at her temple. He saw the color drain from her face and he reached out for her.

"Carol?" She was up and moving then, running out the back door. He followed after her, hearing her getting sick as she leaned over the back porch, groaning and spitting onto the ground. "Carol?" She straightened then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes were glassy and watery, and Daryl's brow creased in concern. Was she sick? Was this some new symptom of the outbreak? "Hey. You ok?"

"I'm fine. I'm…I'll be fine," she muttered, brushing past him. He caught her hand in his, stopping her. She turned toward him, shaking her head. "You should go. Just leave me alone. I…I'm just…"

"What're you doin'? This ain't you. Ya don't feel sorry for yourself. Ya don't push people away. I get that he hurt you. Ain't right. He was wrong. But we gotta get back. If you're sick, we gotta get you back and get those meds in you."

"It's not the sickness from the prison, Daryl."

"How d'ya know?"

"Because, it's…it's not."

"You ain't makin' sense." Carol moved to walk away, but Daryl gave her hand a gentle squeeze, urging her to stay. "Talk to me."

"Daryl," she murmured, shaking her head, "it doesn't matter."

"It matters if you're sick. What're you hidin'?" _Lie. Make something up. Anything_. Her head was screaming at her to just tell him something, anything but the truth, because if she told him the truth, there was no way he'd ever consider anything but staying with her, and she didn't want him to feel obligated. Still, her heart told her that she just couldn't lie to him. She cared too damned much for him to ever lie to him. With a heavy sigh, she swallowed back the lump in her throat. "What's goin' on?" he finally asked again. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and her stomach felt like one big knot. But, she took a deep breath and just went for it. She had to say it out loud, anyway. She had to.

"I'm pregnant, Daryl. Ok? I'm pregnant." She watched him flinch, mouth opening slightly, as his mind tried to process exactly what it was he'd just heard. Before he even had a chance to speak, she pulled her hand from his and walked back into the house, letting the screen door shut swiftly behind herself.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Daryl stood at the screen door, watching as Carol pulled a knife out of the drawer and began to slice up one of the other peaches she'd brought with her. He opened the door, walking in, watching as she all but ignored him, sitting down at the table to eat.

"When'd you find out?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, popping a slice between her lips and chewing slowly. She didn't meet his gaze.

"So you know? You're sure?"

"I took a test the morning Rick and I went on that run. I wasn't sure if…if I was getting sick or if it was something else. You were already gone, so I couldn't tell you." She frowned, popping another piece into her mouth.

Daryl pulled a chair out sitting down across from her. Carol's eyes met his, then.

"You feel ok?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I don't know about any of this, Daryl." She went to take a bite of another piece of peach, but her stomach tightened, and she put it down, pushing it away. Daryl watched her intently, and he reached out, brushing his hand over hers.

"We'll figure it out."

"I haven't figured anything out," she muttered. "I still have time. There's still time. I just…I don't know what to do."

"What're you talkin' about?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. Carol reached into her pocket, pulling out the piece of cardboard with the name of Lori's pills on it. She handed it to him. "What's this?"

"Lori took them when she found out she was pregnant with Judith. She threw them up. If she hadn't, she probably would have ended the pregnancy. There might be more at the pharmacy. I hadn't…I hadn't decided yet."

"That what you want?" he asked. A hint of a smile quirked up in the corner of Carol's mouth.

"What I want is to wake up from this nightmare," she replied. "But since that's not happening, I have a choice. Find these pills, take them, risk getting sick myself, because they'll be out of date, and anything could happen. Or stay pregnant and maybe miscarry. It wouldn't be the first time." She looked down when she saw a flicker of pity in his eyes. "Or maybe I won't miscarry. Maybe I'll die giving birth to this baby, and there'll be another kid without a mom. Maybe we'll both die, and for what?" She ran her fingers through her hair, seeing the way his face fell a little, as if any last glimmer of hope was slowly fading fast from his eyes. "Or maybe we'll both live, and we'll just spend the rest of our lives running and hiding and being afraid. I just…I have to be prepared for all scenarios."

"What do you want?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know what I want. Sophia was my baby, Daryl. She was…and that was so long ago. What kind of life could I give a baby in this world? Judith lucked out. She's got walls. For how long, who knows? But she's protected. But out here when noise attracts walkers? When you have to train yourself to be silent? A baby can't survive out here. It'll be a short, painful life."

"Even here? On the farm?" he asked. Carol cocked her head a little, wondering exactly what he was thinking.

"Walls aren't sound proof," Carol pointed out. "Even at the prison, there are hundreds of walkers trying to get through those fences. They hear people. They know they're in there. They won't give up until they've broken through or somebody shoves something through their skulls." She felt sick again. "There's no perfectly safe place, Daryl." She sniffled then, pulling herself up and moving to stand across the room, looking out of the window above the sink. She heard Daryl's chair scrape the floor as he stood, and then he was coming up behind her, and she trembled when she felt his hands on her arms. This was still so new.

"What do you want?" he asked again. "You want the pills? You want me to find 'em?"

"I don't know," she answered as honestly as he could. "Daryl, I don't…I didn't ask for any of this. We were…we were selfish."

"We were careful," Daryl reminded her. "Real careful, if I remember it right. These things still happen. You want me to apologize for knockin' you up or somethin'?"

"No," she snorted, a little laugh coming out then, surprising them both. She sobered then. "It's not your fault. We just…it's done, and we'll deal with it."

"I ain't leavin' you," he murmured, gently putting pressure on her shoulders, encouraging her to turn and face him, which she did. She leaned back a little, and his hands rested at her hips, and she felt like he expected so much of her then, when she didn't even know what she wanted herself.

"You don't have to stay. I shouldn't have told you, because now you feel…"

"You tellin' me what I feel now? I told ya before, I ain't leavin' you, and I meant it. Now? Now you can't be alone."

"I'll slow you down."

"I'll drive faster," he joked. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"It's too much," she murmured.

"Maybe," he murmured. "But I didn't come all this way to find you to just leave ya again. I came all this way, 'cause I love you, damn it, and I shoulda told ya a long time ago." Carol froze in his arms, and he froze right along with her, cheeks flushing red at the admission. Carol gently curled her fingers into his shirt, and she let out a soft sigh, hanging her head.

"You shouldn't," she murmured.

"You tellin' me what, now?"

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she pointed out.

"Maybe not," he muttered. "But it's what it is." Carol went to open her mouth, but he didn't let her get a word in. "And 'fore you tell me I'm tellin' you this 'cause you're pregnant, that ain't true. Felt it for a while now. Wanted to tell ya when I got back from the supply run, but you were gone, and I came after you. Whether we stay here or go back to the prison, I ain't leavin' you, and ya best get used to it."

Carol's brows rose. She had to admit that she was more than a little surprised by his forwardness. She hadn't expected this at all, but she also knew that Daryl was a man of honor, and if he didn't mean what he was saying, he wouldn't say it.

"Daryl," she murmured, pulling her arms around his neck. He bent his head, and she rested her forehead against his. "I don't know what to say."

"What do ya usually say when somebody tells ya they love you if you don't feel it, too?"

"I didn't say I didn't," Carol replied, letting out a soft breath. "I do feel it." His hands moved down to her hips. "I just wasn't expecting…I didn't know…"

"You tellin' me after all this time, you can't believe somebody would love you so damned much?" He felt her shudder, and he pulled back, seeing that her cheeks were damp with tears. "Hey…" He tilted her chin up, and he pressed his lips against hers. "I love you, and I'll say it a hundred times over if ya need to hear it."

"I love you, too," she murmured, blinking the tears away. "I think I have for a long time." She swallowed hard. "It's different. My whole life, love's never been…it hasn't been…"

"I know," he replied quietly, gently moving his hand up her back. "For me, too. Took me a long damned time to start sortin' out the mess in my head. Might never figure it all out. But I know you're the only person in this whole world that's ever made me feel like I'm worth somethin' more than…" His voice trailed off then, and Carol gently pulled away.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked gently.

"We'll figure it out. I'm on board, whatever you wanna do. I'm gonna be here. Ain't gonna make you go through this alone, whatever you decide." Carol reached out for his hand then, giving it a squeeze.

"I'm glad you're here," she murmured. "Thank you."


End file.
